


A Shot In The Dark

by ajikdo



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Jinyoung, Blow Jobs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Grinding, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Rutting, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, district manager jackson, jackson and jb are best friends sorry no real jackbum to be had here but theyre cute af anyways, manager jaebum, maybe? enemies is harsh but
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:09:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9917588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajikdo/pseuds/ajikdo
Summary: Jinyoung is stubborn, Jaebum is long-suffering, and Jackson has a gigantic, sloppy crush.





	1. .01

**Author's Note:**

> Someone out there please notice and appreciate my god-awful pun of a title

It had been a slow day. Jinyoung, half-dreaming, wiped down the appliances, absently registering the roar of a motorcycle outside.

He didn't mind this job. He was good with people and a fast learner. He'd been at the cafe for three weeks and had mastered the ordering, the complex brewing system, the custom blends. Maybe he still burned himself on the milk frother, like, twice a day, but he was relatively sure the thing had it in for him. His manager, Jaebum, was a good guy who was never averse to sitting in the back taking turns seeing who could catch the most ridiculously expensive organic coffee beans with ridiculously expensive recycled cups when business was slow. 

He eyed the steamer with distrust as he wiped it down, feeling the bandaid on his wrist from their disagreement that morning. "I'm on to you," he muttered.

"I suppose that means I have to kill you."

Jinyoung's head snapped up, slightly embarrassed to have been caught in a showdown with an appliance. 

The broad-shouldered blonde clunked his helmet down on the counter - the motorcycle, Jinyoung registered in the back of his mind - smiling with such ridiculous sincerity that Jinyoung couldn't help grinning in return.

"Well," Jinyoung said, "You could, but I'm the only one on today, so you'd be out of luck for a drink."

The man laughed, a surprisingly high sound that rang musically around the room. Charmed, Jinyoung angled his head for a closer study. The sides of his head were shaved short, black roots just beginning to show, the top long and slicked back. He wore leather head-to-toe - biker gear - and enormous black boots. But a sliver of a powder pink shirt showed at the collar of his jacket, and his eyes were a bright and lively brown, twinkling with amusement.

“I’m Jackson,” the man added, the smile bumping up a few watts as he skimmed his gaze over Jinyoung, making his stomach flutter pleasantly.

"Jinyoung,” he replied, a slight flush creeping up his neck at the man’s open appreciation. “What can I get you?" 

"A regular green tea, please. King blend." He angled his head at Jinyoung's obvious surprise. "What?"

"Nothing," said Jinyoung. The stranger just raised his eyebrows. "I would have pegged you for a colossal black coffee kind of guy, that's all." 

The man heaved a long-suffering sigh. "It's all the leather, right?" 

Jinyoung laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. "It _might_ be the leather," he said over his shoulder as he gathered teas from the shelf behind the counter.

"Let me assure you that beneath this creaky, shiny exterior lies the heart of marshmallow." He tugged out his wallet to pay, flipping it open to dig out his card. Jinyoung glimpsed a photo of a good-looking young man holding a little girl, and opposite that, a formal portrait of a beautiful older woman who could only be his mother.

"I believe it," he murmured, smiling again, and swiped the card. 

As he handed it back, their fingers brushed, Jackson’s lingering just a moment longer than necessary. Jinyoung took a careful breath as a tingle danced up his arm. "Thanks. It'll just be a minute."

After setting the tea to steep, Jinyoung darted out from behind the counter and began energetically wiping down the counter where the lids and milk were kept, ordering himself to stop being such an idiot. He was a grown man. He did not get spastic in his workplace over a hot blonde. Not even one wearing head-to-toe leather that looked like he could throw Jinyoung around with one hand. His self-directed lecture turned out to be slightly less effective than he’d hoped when he turned and crashed directly into the aforementioned hot blonde, barely stifling a yelp.

"Sorry," he said hastily, and made to scoot out of the way. His stomach flipped when the shorter man rested his fingertips lightly on the edge of the counter on either side of him, caging him in. He was long-limbed enough that they weren't uncomfortably close, and his hands rested lightly, nonthreateningly, but Jinyoung felt himself wobble slightly.

"Um," said Jinyoung intelligently.

"I don't think my tea is right."

Jinyoung gaped, tingles and flutters fleeing. He wasn’t entirely sure where he’d been expecting this to go, but he was relatively sure having his tea-making capabilites question hadn’t factored into it.

"Your tea is exactly right,” he said, incredulous. “King blend, organic."

"That's right. But it's missing something."

Temper began to simmer warm in his stomach, an uncomfortable mix with the reflexive arousal of being caged in by arms that looked like they could break him - or bend him - in half.

"Is your manager here?"

Jinyoung felt, actually felt, his spine stiffen like a steel rod. He'd obviously been thrown by the laugh, he thought nastily. This guy was exactly as snotty and entitled as everyone else that came into a pretentious organic cafe.

"Yes," he said flatly, and made no move to do anything about it. "Now back up, you jack-"

"-son!" Came a panicked voice from the left.

Jinyoung turned as best he could, still halfway encircled in the (gigantic) arms. His brows furrowed as Jaebum skidded to a wild halt next to them.

"Yes, dad?"

He punched Jinyoung in the arm. ("Ow!" complained Jinyoung.)  
"Very funny. Jackson, hey. Jinyoung, this is Jackson. He’s the district manager."

Jinyoung looked sideways at him, and then back at Jaebum, whose eyes were wide with warning above his slightly maniacal keep-your-mouth-shut-jinyoungie smile.

"District manager," Jinyoung repeated skeptically.

"That's me," Jackson said cheerfully, retracting a hand to fish a business card out of his jacket pocket. "This one has someone's phone number on the back, but here. I'm out of 'jackass' cards, but I've got the trophy back at my place if you want to see it."

Jinyoung's righteous outrage wobbled for a moment, shame threatening to creep up the back of his neck. Right before Jackson's hand planted itself back beside his hip. Irritation flared to life again, and he snapped his elbows up and outwards - hard - catching the thick forearms with a solid thwap of flesh on leather. "Do you mind?"

Jackson's arms didn't budge an inch, and his grin got impossibly wider. "Not at all."

Jinyoung's hand shot up before he could stop it. He didn't slap - he would not slap. It was too predictable. But he very nearly punched, belatedly realizing that he was still holding the dirty rag he’d been wiping the counters with.

Jackson cackled. “Gonna clean me up?” 

Jinyoung and Jackson were staring at each other. Jinyoung furious, Jackson apparently deeply entertained. Neither paid Jaebum, who was now standing in the corner attempting to strangle himself with his apron, any mind. Jackson leaned in, hands shifting on the counter behind them close enough to brush across Jinyoung's lower back. Close enough that Jinyoung could feel the heat pumping off his chest through his thin work shirt.

"Sorry," whispered Jackson beside his ear.

He would not shiver. He would not.

"Just needed some sugar."

Jinyoung's jaw dropped. Jackson straightened, finally withdrawing his hands and stepping back. It took Jinyoung a moment to register what Jackson was waggling in front of his nose. Two packs of sugar.

"Thanks," he said, tucking them into his pocket. "Keep 'em in line, captain." With a cocky half-salute to Jaebum, he nipped his still-steaming tea from the bar and glided out the door.

Jinyoung deflated slowly, incredulous, sagging against the bar. Jaebum sank slowly into a crouch, pinching the bridge of his nose in disbelief.

"You called the district manager a jackass," he said, voice muffled.

"He is a jackass," Jinyoung muttered. 

"You seemed to be getting along fine when he came in," Jaebum shot back.

"That was before he complained about the tea and then got in my face and asked for the manager!"

"Jinyoung, you're my friend-- "

"-- I'll have you know that my Pavlovian reaction of sheer horror to that phrase is entirely your fault-- "  
  
"And so is Jackson, but as your friend," Jaebum continued loudly, "I'm morally obligated to inform you that you're being a dick."

Jinyoung's jaw dropped for the second time that day. " _I'm_ being a dick?

"He's the district manager. He came in to check up on the store, which is his job. He asked for me because I report to him, which is my job," said Jaebum with an air of explaining something to someone who had recently suffered a blow to the head. "And finally, because apparently your twice-daily deathmatch with the frother has also fried your brain, he wasn't actually complaining about the tea. Jackson would drink water out of a puddle if you told him it was organic."

"Do you have a point or are you hoping for one to appear in the next twenty years of this speech?"

"He was hitting on you, you unbelievable ass."

Jinyoung opened his mouth. Closed it again. Deciding to handily ignore the rest of Jaebum's logic, he latched onto one point. "He hits on people by insulting their skills?"

"I wouldn't know," said Jaebum dryly, finally straightening and rubbing a hand over his face. 

"Well, I don't care if he carries a picture of his mom in his wallet. Any guy that still thinks pulling pigtails is a good way to get a date isn't worth the time." He snatched the mop from beside the fridge and began huffily washing the floor. 

 

\- - - - - - -

 

 

“Failure.”

Jaebum groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

“Failure, Jaebum.”

“I heard you.” 

“Not just failure. Humiliation, destruction. Death.” Jaebum jerked his head back, barely dodging the hands that were thrown dramatically into the air on the last word.

“Yes, death,” he said sardonically, looking down at Jackson, whose head was resting in his lap. “You’re definitely going to die from having a pickup blow up in your face.” 

“I want _him_ to blow up in my face.”

Jaebum choked on his beer. Jackson continued to lament, risking Jaebum’s eyes as his hands flew, risking his future children when he lifted his head in his lap and dropped it back down, hard. 

Jaebum shifted cautiously before he reached down and prodded Jackson’s cheek. He tapped his forehead, pinched his chin, booped his nose. Jackson finally paused to draw breath when Jaebum stuck a finger in his ear. “What are you doing?”

“Where’s your off-switch?”

“Nowhere you wanna see,” said Jackson, grinning.

“Aaaand I’m out,” said Jaebum, giving the blonde a shove that had him rolling off his lap and onto the floor.

They were in Jackson’s apartment, the younger having leaped out at Jaebum from behind a dumpster - which he’d apparently leapt behind to hide from Jinyoung as the younger had left a few minutes ahead of Jaebum - as he closed up the store at the end of the day. He’d barely given him time to stow his keys before herding him towards his bike, flapping his arms and shoving a helmet into his stomach hard enough to knock the wind of out him. 

“Get on, get on, it’s an emergency!”

As Jaebum knew Jackson and therefore knew that an emergency could consist of anything from a building burning to the ground to a dog that had looked at him funny, he didn’t argue, slinging one long leg over the bike and gripping Jackson’s broad chest as they roared onto the highway.

They’d ended up at Jackson’s, pizza and beer that Jackson had apparently ordered ahead of time beating them to the door. Two hours, two pizzas, and a six-pack later, Jackson had thrown himself across the couch, head in his best friend’s lap.

“If you’re that wound up about it, just come back tomorrow and talk to him.”

“Come back? Talk to him? Did you see that conversation?” He shoved himself upright in disgust and clawed his way back onto the couch. “‘Gonna clean me up?’” he imitated himself, “‘Just needed some sugar?’” What was I _doing_?”

There was a momentary pause during which Jaebum could swear he heard the gears turning. Alarm bells began to ring faintly in his head.

“Jaebum.”

“No."

“Jaebummie!”

“I will wound you.” He hastily set his beer on the table as Jackson lunged across the couch, seizing him by the front of his sweater and yanking him close.

“Im Jaebum.” His eyes were slightly crazed, their noses nearly touching. “Help me.”

“You are beyond help,” Jaebum spluttered, speech somewhat impeded by strangulation.  
  
Jackson released him, pretending to faint dramatically against the back of the couch. Jaebum’s lips quivered as he looked fondly at the younger, his ungelled blonde hair ridiculously fluffy and sticking up every which way. His black tank top and shorts made him look like a tough guy, but were belied by the obnoxiously fuzzy cat socks Jaebum had bought him as a joke last Christmas but that Jackson, to Jaebum’s great surprise, wore at every opportunity.

He felt his smile spread alongside the warmth in his chest and reached forward, the younger’s eyes snapping open with a yelp as Jaebum squished his face between his hands. He brought their faces close and cooed. “You have a crush!”

“Thaths ridiculouth,” Jackson managed, trying to wriggle free.

Jaebum grinned and smacked a noisy kiss on the tip of his nose, ignoring Jackson’s attempt to bite him, headlocking him momentarily before wrapping an arm around him and tugging him against his side.

Jackson quieted immediately with the prospect of snuggles, sighing contentedly as he leaned his head into the crook of Jaebum’s shoulder. 

“He really is cute, isn’t he?”

“He is,” sighed Jackson.

“I’ll talk to him.”

“I love you, Im Jaebum.”

“I love you too, Jack...ass.”

“Hey!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so for the sake of full disclosure, this is my first time doing anything here with an Actual Plot and I'm actually not sure how long it's going to be. This first part just sort of sprang out of my forehead fully-formed, Athena-style, so I'll try to keep up a reasonable time between updates but pls be patient with me while I figure out what I'm doing (and also I promise you this is gonna earn the explicit rating AND THEN SOME) ok ok thank u bye


	2. .02

Jinyoung booted open the door to his small apartment, laden down with grocery bags and dumping his keys unceremoniously onto the side table. 

“Ass,” he grumbled to himself, toeing his shoes off, and then yelped as the lights flashed on.

“You are one, or you want some?”

Jinyoung blinked furiously against the brightness at the tall, slim young man standing in the doorway to his kitchen, nibbling on an ice-cream.

“Christ,” Jinyoung muttered. “Give me a heart attack. Why are you eating ice cream in the dark?”

Yugyeom shrugged. Jaebum had called him an hour ago, asking the younger, who lived in the same building, to check up on Jinyoung after work. They both knew it took a good amount of needling to genuinely stir his temper, but when it was up, it was up. Depending on Jinyoung’s mood, Yugyeom would either offer an ear or shoulder to serve as a sounding board, or, if Jinyoung was being particularly stubborn, simply poke at him until he exploded and took it out on him instead, providing a much-needed release. In exchange, Jaebum had agree to drive him and Bambam to their next three dates ("Hazard pay," Yugyeom had stated when Jaebum complained) and to fill him in on every detail involving what they had taken to calling The Tea Incident.

“Alternate query; why are you in my apartment?”

“Bambam doesn’t get back until tonight,” said Yugyeom.

“Well,” said Jinyoung after a beat, “That clears that up.”

Yugyeom slurped his ice cream noisily, deliberately obnoxious. “If you didn’t want me in here, you shouldn’t have given me a key.”

If Jinyoung had had a free hand, he’d have used it to pull his hair out. “I didn’t give you a key. You and Bambam _stole_ my keys and made a copy.”

Yugyeom waved a hand airily. “Semantics.”

“I was locked out for an hour!”

“We brought you a coffee after. What’s a little breaking and entering among friends? Holding grudges is bad for your health, hyung.”

Jinyoung thrust a handful of bags into Yugyeom’s chest. “Put these away if you’re going to eat my food. I’m gonna go shower.”

“I hope you bought more ice cream!” Yugyeom called as Jinyoung headed to the bathroom.

  
  
** 

 

A half hour later, they were plunked on Jinyoung’s couch, unknowingly mirroring Jackson and Jaebum several blocks away.

“And _then,_ ” Jinyoung ranted, “he crowds me against the counter and _complains about the tea._ ”

Yugyeom raised a finger. “Hang on. He crowded you against the counter? Stop talking like a lit major.”

“I am a lit major,” Jinyoung grumbled.

Yugyeom’s lips twitched. “Was it sexy?”

“It- he- that’s not the _point,_ ” said Jinyoung, incensed. “He complained, and then asked for the manager.”

The amusement crawling up Yugyeom’s throat was threatening to choke him. Seeing Jinyoung flustered was rare, even more so when he wasn’t the one having to put in the work to do it. It had taken him years to learn how to push his buttons just so, and he was intrigued to know there was someone out there that had managed to find all the right ones in less than five minutes.

“Didn’t you say he was the district manager?”

“So?”

“So isn’t that, like, his job?”

Jinyoung closed his eyes and took a deep breath, palms actually tingling with the urge to smack someone. Yugyeom, recognizing the edge of a cliff when he was about to fall off of it, opted to continue from a safer distance and unfolded his impressive height from the sofa on the pretense of getting another ice cream.

“Let me ask you one thing.”

Jinyoung, eyes still closed, let his head fall back against the couch. “Is telling you to shut up going make a difference?”

“Has it ever?” the redhead shot back. “Jaebum hyung said he was hitting on you. Like, using ‘a problem with the tea’ as an excuse to talk to you.”

“Why are you saying that like ‘problem with the tea’ is a long-established icebreaker?” Jinyoung demanded. “This isn’t the 1800s, and he wasn’t. He was being a snob.”

Yugyeom cocked a brow, then a hip. “Are you going to let me finish?”

Jinyoung ground his teeth but stayed silent.

“He said the tea was missing something, which, okay, if he was actually complaining, I second your vote for snobbery.” Jinyoung had a split second to feel vindicated before Yugyeom continued. “Here’s the bigger question. Did he actually try it before he started talking to you?”

Jinyoung opened his mouth. 

And smartly closed it again.

“I’ll take that as a no,” said Yugyeom, a shit-eating grin creeping inexorably across his face. “Interesting.”

Jinyoung made an ominous noise Yugyeom had heard enough times to know it was time to bail. Considering his mission accomplished, he tossed the unopened ice cream into Jinyoung's lap and made for the door.

“Later, hyung!”

Before the apartment door had finished closing behind him, he whipped out his phone. He couldn’t wait to tell Bambam about this.

 

  
**  


 

Later that night, Jinyoung lay in bed, bedside lamp quietly illuminating his small room. He shuffled restlessly, trying to concentrate on his book. After reading the same line five times without absorbing a single syllable, he gave up, dropping it on his lap and sliding down the pillows.

He shook his hair out of his eyes and nudged his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose, glancing around at the posters plastered on his walls for a distraction. 

Quotes and author portraits sat neatly aligned above each bookshelf, set along walls painted a warm, restful grey. He less read them than recited them, a calming ritual he’d developed the very first night in his own place, when he’d been twenty and wriggling under the covers with excitement about his future. 

_“Wherever your heart is, that is where you´ll find your treasure.” Paulo Coelho._

_“You are your own refuge.” Guillaume Musso._

_“It was a pleasure to burn.” Ray Bradbury._

Before he could stop it, the voices of his favourite writers morphed into the voices of his friends. 

_“Jackson would drink water out of a puddle if you told him it was organic.”_

_“Did he actually try it before he started talking to you?”_

_“He was hitting on you, you unbelievable ass.”_

He remembered jabbing his elbows into Jackson’s forearms, the nasty look he reserved for when he wanted to do some real damage scraping harshly up and down the bright, grinning face. He waved a hand in the air as if to swat away the doubt creeping up the back of his neck. “Snob,” he repeated firmly to himself under his breath, though his conviction sounded weak even to him.

He shifted restlessly once more before reaching over to turn off the lamp, tugging his blanket up to his shoulders. His book, neglected, fell to the floor, falling open to the page he’d last read, illuminated by the slip of moonlight filtering in through his window.

_“The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold.” Oscar Wilde._

 

  
**  


 

When Jinyoung entered the cafe the next morning, Jaebum took a long study and immediately reassessed his plan, shooting off a quick text under the counter before turning to Jinyoung. He considered for a moment.

“You look like hell,” he said bluntly.

Jinyoung fluttered his eyelashes. “Please, hyung, all this shameless flattery. People will talk.”

He slouched his way behind the counter to put on his apron. He hadn’t slept well, drifting through dreams of soft lips on his ear and a hard counter against his back, only for the guilt he couldn’t quite repress in sleep to poke him awake with sharp, nasty little fingers.

Jaebum gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and handed him the colossal mocha he’d made, anticipating Jinyoung’s mood and arrival. 

Jinyoung eyed it. “What is this?”

“You’ve been here three weeks and you don’t know a mocha when you see one? I may have to demote you.”

“I know what it is _physically,_ ” said Jinyoung. “What is it metaphorically?”

“Stop talking like a lit major and take the damn mocha.”

“You know,” said Jinyoung, “I’m getting awfully sick of hearing that.” But he took the drink.

He waited until Jinyoung had a few hits of chocolate and sugar in his system before waving over his shoulder. Jinyoung turned and saw Yugyeom and Bambam come through the doors, holding hands and laughing. He smiled at the youngest two before he could stop it, their delight in each other and at being reunited fairly lighting up the room.

“Hyung!” Bambam called when he spotted him. He bounced over to the counter, somehow still managing to look outrageously fashionable in the process. “I’m back!”

“Oh?” said Jinyoung, sipping his mocha. “Did you go somewhere?”

“Please,” said Bambam, “You can’t tell me you didn’t notice that this town’s sole fashion source was off the grid for a week.” 

Though he rolled his eyes for form, his mood lifted almost in spite of himself. Jinyoung gathered the bundle of limbs and Saint Laurent into his arms and squeezed. “How was your trip?”

Bambam squeezed back, ignoring the question, before stepping back to take a long study.

“You look like hell,” he said.

“Have you all hiveminded?” Jinyoung demanded.

Bambam just grinned, hooking an arm through Yugyeom’s. “I heard something about a blonde.”

“Oh my god,” said Jinyoung. “You know what? I changed my mind. Go away.”

In defense, he shuffled back behind the counter as the maknaes chattered excitedly, Jaebum just leaning against the grinder and smiling at the three of them. 

“Seriously, I go out of town for a week and Jinyoung hyung finally starts getting some. You have the worst timing.”

Jinyoung was staring down at his mocha, silent.

Bambam and Yugyeom exchanged a look. “You know I’m joking,” said Bambam, looking worried at the lack of response.

Yugyeom reached over and prodded Jinyoung’s shoulder. “Hyung, we’re just playing with you.”

Ignoring them, Jinyoung turned to Jaebum. 

“What?” He asked nervously.

“Do you think this is big enough to drown myself in?”

Yugyeom hooted, yanking Jinyoung into a hug and squashing him between himself and Bambam. Jinyoung hid his grin in Yugyeom’s turtleneck.

He loved these idiots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The maknaes have appeared!
> 
> All literary quotes aside from the Oscar Wilde in this chapter are taken from books or authors Jinyoung has read or recommended in the past. In order: The Alchemist by Paul Cohello, Seras-tu là by Guillaume Musso, and Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought of this chapter! ok ok bye


	3. .03

He hated those idiots.

Jinyoung had spent the morning in the shop with Jaebum, Bambam and Yugyeom, goofing off and hearing about Bambam’s recent trip home to Thailand, and his mood had been greatly improved for it. He'd volunteered to pick up the lunch Jaebum ordered for everyone, hungry and cheered by a morning of cameraderie with minimal mention of a certain blonde. 

All that, however, came crashing down around his ears when he returned bearing several bags of takeout to find a gigantic, shiny, pitch-black motorcycle parked on the sidewalk - the _sidewalk_ \- outside the cafe.

He stood rigidly, clutching the bags, and seriously considered just dropping the food at the door and going home, but Jabum caught his eye through the glass door and gestured him sternly inside. Jinyoung couldn't properly see what was going on, but squinting against the glare, he caught the silhouettes of the maknaes at one of the tables, long legs flashing as they positively pranced with excitement. 

He would probably scoff at their takeout, with its non-organic GMO vegetables and steroidally grown beef, Jinyoung thought. He probably thought Jinyoung was an errand boy, squirming under Jaebum's thumb and sent to run around getting lunch for the higher-ups. He was probably in there right now criticizing Jaebum for the store being dead the last couple of days. Like it was his fault all the college kids had gone home for the summer.

He shook his hair out of his eyes and headed for the doors. Having managed to work up an impressive head of steam, he shoved inside, hands full, fully prepared to defend his friend’s honor.

What he got was a moment of anticipatory silence before a loud “pop” that had the maknaes exploding into hysterical laughter, shouting and howling with glee.

“Do it again, hyung!”

Their backs were to him, a glimmer of blonde hair just visible between their shoulders. There was a rustle, and then another loud pop, making them roar with laughter. Jaebum was leaning against the counter, holding a box of straws and a bag, grinning. 

“Lunch,” said Jinyoung curtly.

All four of them turned, and on the table past Jackson Jinyoung saw some sort of elaborate contraption made out of straws, evidently having something to do with a handful of coffee beans and a lighter. Jackson hastily removed the straws he had tucked behind each ear, sticking out like a pair of antlers.

Deciding that they wanted him to inquire about Jackson, what he was doing there, Jinyoung resolved to do exactly the opposite. He brushed past the blonde to dump the bags on the counter, Jaebum behind it so he could face them, Bambam and Yugyeom on his right as they settled down to eat. Jackson sat on his other side, but at the very least having the decency - or self-preservation - to leave one stool between them. 

Jinyoung dug through the bags, distributing burgers and fries, and came up with one more item.

“There’s a chicken breast in here,” he said, baffled.

“That’s mine.”

Jinyoung turned to Jackson, the hostility in his gaze so poorly disguised that Jaebum hissed in warning.

“Unless... Um, did you want it?”

Jinyoung said nothing and passed the container to Jaebum, who rolled his eyes before passing it down. 

“Thanks.”

Bambam and Yugyeom leaned around Jinyoung, engaged, asking Jackson about Hong Kong. He’d been a near-Olympic fencer, Jinyoung learned - not that he cared - and moved to Korea in his late teens, when he’d met Jaebum, and then back to Hong Kong several years ago. He’d come back a few months ago to settle down, taking over management for the district. 

Jackson chatted cheerily, deftly shredding his chicken with his chopsticks and fork. 

“They didn’t even give you a knife!” said Bambam when he noticed this, outraged, seemingly having had immediately adopted Jackson as his new favourite hyung.

“No, it’s fine,” said Jackson, looking Jinyoung directly in the eyes for the first time since his arrival. “I get the sense it’d be sticking out of my jugular right now.”

The silence that followed was so intensely awkward that Jinyoung swore he heard the appliances rusting.

“Drinks!” shouted Jaebum, making everyone jump.

“What?”

“We forgot to get drinks.”

“We are literally in a cafe,” Yugyeom pointed out, whining when Bambam slapped his arm.

Jinyoung opened his mouth, but Jaebum had already snagged Yugyeom by the ear and was dragging him towards the door, Bambam trotting behind, pinching his ass to make him move faster.

The door swung shut with a muffled whoosh, and Jinyoung gaped after them in the sudden, ringing silence.

“I’m sorry,” Jackson blurted.

Jinyoung turned. 

“About before. The other day. I was flustered, and whatever stupid line I was trying backfired. Clearly,” he added with a weak smile. “But I thought I was in too deep to back out by that point, so I just sort of...”

Jinyoung frowned down at his burger.

“Anyways, I really am sorry. JB and I have known each other for years -”

“ _JB?_ ” Jinyoung interrupted.

“- he’s a good friend. My best friend, really. I asked him to set this up so I could talk to you,” he admitted.

“Really?” said Jinyoung, voice thick with irony. “I had no idea.”

He felt another sharp poke of guilt when Jackson’s face fell slightly, looking down at his food, cheeks pink.

Jinyoung couldn't quite reconcile the man he'd clashed with and the man sitting a few seats down from him, feelings so wide open they all but blanketed the room. He studied his profile and felt something shift in his chest, just a little, at the sincerity he found there. 

“Me too,” said Jinyoung, surprising himself.

“You too what?”

“I was harsh before. The other day.” He took a deep breath, trying not to choke on his own pride as he did his best to swallow it. “I was flustered too, and pissed on top of it. Sorry.”

Jackson was looking at him with something akin to hope, and something darker gleaming just under the surface.

“You were flustered?”

Jinyoung’s lips quivered as he tried to suppress a smile. “Don’t make me take my apology back and beat you with it.” Jackson laughed. 

There’d been a shift, small but significant. Jinyoung wasn’t quite ready to set down the simmer of righteous temper he’d been clinging to and had begun to enjoy over the last few days. It made a handy stick for beating away his guilt when the term “overreaction” began whispering in the back of his mind. But there was progress. 

“Thanks,” Jackson said quietly.

There was another moment of silence.

“I should go, let the rest of them come back in to finish their lunch.”. He tugged out his wallet and flipped it open, dropping a few bills on the counter. Jinyoung glimpsed the photographs again, set where they would be seen every time the wallet was opened. 

The feeling in his chest intensified. 

Damn it. 

Jinyoung shook himself. “They went to get drinks.”

“Are you kidding?” asked Jackson, pulling on his jacket and nodding out the window.

Jinyoung followed his gaze to see Yugyeom, Bambam, and Jaebum standing behind a pillar, stacked like Scooby-Doo characters, as they tried to squint past the glare in the glass doors to what was going on inside.

“For f --”

“I like the kids,” Jackson added, watching affectionately as Yugyeom, leaning over Bambam’s shoulder, misstepped and tripped them both, sending them out from behind the pillar and onto the sidewalk in a heap of tangled limbs.

“Me too, for reasons that continue to escape me,” muttered Jinyoung. 

Jackson rose, neatly closing his container, diligently wiping down the section where he’d been sitting. He tucked his stool back under the counter, and then paused. “Can I ask you something?”

Jinyoung’s head snapped up so fast his neck cracked. 

“You are kidding me.”

Jackson waved his arms spastically. “No, no, no. Nothing like that. I just -”

He took a deep breath, cheeks pinking again.

“Could you make me some tea?” he asked meekly.

 

**

 

Jinyoung stuck his leftovers in the fridge. He couldn’t help glancing outside to see Jackson straddling his bike, chatting with the maknaes. He reached out to ruffle Bambam’s hair, cackling when the younger swatted at his hand, protesting loudly. 

As the younger two waved and headed back home, arm in arm, Jackson set his tea in the cupholder, reaching for his helmet. Jinyoung had a sudden flash.

_“It's missing something.”_

He looked at the counter, back out the door, then slid his gaze to Jaebum, who tactfully averted his eyes. 

His head whipped back and forth several times, indecisive, but when he saw Jackson slide his helmet on, he made up his mind. He darted out from the behind the counter and dashed out the door. Jackson paused, one foot on the peg when Jinyoung stumbled to a halt in front of him.

The motorcycle chuttered loudly between them, exhaust darkening the air. Jinyoung’s face, oddly warped, was reflected back at him in the visor of Jackson's helmet. The summer air seemed to hold its breath, recognizing a moment. A concession.

When Jinyoung held out a hand, palm up, Jackson shoved his visor up to look down at what was offered.

Two packs of sugar. 

He couldn’t see Jackson’s mouth, but he could imagine the smile exploding across his face as his eyes all but disappeared into crescents. He reached out slowly, half expecting Jinyoung to change his mind and throw them at him, and gingerly collected the packets from his palm. He tucked them into his jacket pocket as before. 

“Thanks. See you,” he said, voice muffled by the helmet. He tapped his visor down, and Jinyoung stepped back as he kicked the motorcycle to life.

“Yeah,” said Jinyoung, letting out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as Jackson roared out of the parking lot.

“Guess you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oho, progress!! This entire thing is ending up a lot more plot-y than I initially anticipated, but hopefully it's okay. The smut is coming, I swear. Also, Mark and Youngjae will be appearing next chapter, I promise I'm not ignoring them. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, please let me know what you thought!


	4. .04

Jackson practically bounced up the stairs to his building, helmet under his arm, and shot his key into the lock. 

It had been almost a week since The Tea Incident, a few days since since The Lunch - two significant subheadings in the internal Wikipedia of his life - and he was still on a high.

JB had given him a thumbnail review of their new employee when they’d chatted the night before he’d met Jinyoung, describing him as a lit major on a gap year who’d taken to the cafe like he’d been born to it. Pleased as the district manager and intrigued as someone who simply and sincerely _liked_ people, Jackson had entered the cafe the next morning expecting either a quiet, profoundly nerdy teenager or a long-winded and pretentious thirty-something.

Instead, he’d gotten Jinyoung. 

He’d taken one look at that face and felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. Then Jinyoung had smiled, and Jackson’s world had tilted, leaving him teetering on the edge of something breathless.

Trapping him against the counter had been obnoxious in the extreme, he admitted as he got ready for bed. _He’d_ been obnoxious in the extreme. When the situation had started to slip out of his control, he’d panicked, drawing on Wild and Sexy Jackson to serve as a crutch because his knees were weak, despite his brain shouting _mistake, mistake, mistake._ He’d been afraid to drop the act, even as the eyes that had glinted with welcome turned from night skies to fire and raked a burning path across his face.

He’d dragged his confidence over himself like a shield, maintaining until he made it out the door, and once out of sight had promptly dropped down under a tree, shell-shocked, trying to figure out how he had blown that so spectacularly.

When he’d gotten JB’s text - _change of tactics, get over here_ \- he’d planned to talk to Jinyoung over lunch, using their friends as a buffer, to have a friendly conversation and hope he’d be allowed to start over and pretend it had never happened. When it hadn’t worked - and he wasn’t entirely sure why he’d been dense enough to think that it would - he’d simply opened his mouth and let the apology that had been trembling on his tongue all morning fall free.

Jackson dropped into bed, the image of Jinyoung running out the door playing on a loop behind his eyes. They weren’t quite friends, not yet. But he had seen the smile in Jinyoung’s eyes, and he thought - he hoped - a flicker of another kind of fire, quickly banked. He rolled over, grinning into the darkness, and dropped into sleep with a smile still playing across his face.

 

**

 

It was easier after that. Jackson took to dropping by the cafe every few days. Sometimes for work, sometimes without even the pretense of it, chatting with Jaebum and giving Jinyoung his space, but gradually including Jinyoung in his smiles as the younger began to return them.

Jinyoung became accustomed to hearing his laugh ringing through the cafe as he worked, became accustomed to laughing in harmony instead of fighting it. Weeks passed, the last gasps of May burning away into the scorching heat of June, and at some point - Jinyoung was never able to pinpoint exactly when or how it happened - they became friends. 

They teased each other relentlessly, Jinyoung poking fun at Jackson’s Korean and Jackson poking fun at Jinyoung’s dialect, slipping out when he got annoyed or excited about something. They at lunch side by side, kicking each other's shins under the table. But despite the teasing, the truce, there was an electric undercurrent to their relationship. Jinyoung wasn’t stupid. He knew _want_ when he saw it, knew when it was directed at him. Knew when he felt it. 

Sometimes, on rare days when the shop was busy, he’d be working fast - grinding, brewing, pouring, serving in smooth tandem with Jaebum - and feel a brush of heat between his shoulderblades. Automatically, he’d scan the tables, knowing he’d find Jackson looking at him through the throng. Knowing if he was quick enough, he’d catch the heat in Jackson’s eyes, for a split second, before he blinked it away to wave, or pretend to stick his elbow in his bagel for Jinyoung’s amusement.

He hadn’t forgotten the tingle that had shivered up his arm the first time they’d met, Jackson’s fingertips brushing his sensitive palm. Hadn’t forgotten that tingle turning to a shudder, goosebumps exploding in its wake when Jackson had whispered in his ear. 

But Jackson never brought it up, never pushed, seemingly content for Jinyoung to not hate him, and if Jinyoung woke with a start in the middle of the night, hands fisted breathlessly in his sheets and body aching for something that slipped from the edges of his memory as he woke, nobody needed to know but him. 

The five of them had lunch together once or twice a week, Bambam and Yugyeom, Jaebum, Jackson, and Jinyoung. Every day before Jackson left, Jinyoung made his tea. And every day, Jackson forgot his sugar. It became a routine, almost a game, Jinyoung handing him his tea and waiting to see if he’d remember this time, and when he never did, rolling his eyes and charging out the door to stuff the two packets into Jackson’s hand or pocket.

“I don’t suppose you could consider remembering your own beverage preferences,” said Jinyoung on one of these occasions, exasperated. 

Jackson, well used to the teasing dynamic they’d developed, just laughed. “I don’t suppose you could put it in my tea for me when you make it,” he said.

Jinyoung punched him in the arm, snorting when Jackson yelped, gargling like he’d been shot and pretended to fall off his Harley.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yessir.”

 

**

 

Jackson walked his bike up the drive, stowing it beside his beloved but rarely-used car. 

“Hey.”

He whipped around at the call to see a familiar form clambering out of a car. 

“Oh my god!” he shouted, and charged.

Mark, well accustomed, simply looked resigned and braced himself as Jackson leaped back down the steps in one bound and lifted him straight off the ground.

“You’re back, you’re back! When did you get back? God, you look good with a tan. How are your parents? How did it go?”

“I am, about an hour ago, thank you, good, and good,” Mark grinned, doing his best to hug Jackson back with his arms pinned to his sides. “And aren’t we all sunshine and rainbows this evening?”

Jackson dumped Mark unceremoniously back on his feet to gave him a thorough study. He looked good - but he always did. Long and lanky with enough muscle to stop him just short of skinny, dishwater blonde hair shoved carelessly back from a high, smooth forehead, and what had to be the world’s most perfect teeth gleaming under the streetlights. 

“Speaking of sunshine,” Jackson began.

“LA is good too,” Mark interrupted. “It hasn’t fallen into the sea yet, which is always a plus.”

“Actually, I was referring to Youngjae.”

Mark grinned and gestured to his car. Together they walked down the short slope of lawn to the vehicle parked at the curb and peered through the open window, where Jackson could just see a gleam of black hair peeking out from under a pile of hoodies in the back seat. 

Jackson paused for a moment. “That is the most horrendously adorable thing I have ever seen. I may have to sue you.”

Mark laughed, reaching through the window to gently card his fingers through the mop of hair, making Youngjae murmur contentedly in his sleep. “He’s not as used to the time change as I am. The poor guy has been in a deathmatch with jetlag for the last three weeks.”

“Why is he sleeping in your laundry?”

“He was going to fold it on the way so we didn’t have to worry about it when we got home, but..” he trailed off, smiling fondly.

“Do you want to come up, tell me about your trip? And yes,” he said, forestalling Mark’s question, “I have food that is not organic, unprocessed, or sugar free. Though how any of those things qualify as ‘real food’ to you, I will never know.”

Mark squinted, suspicious. “Why?”

“Jaebum’s been coming around a lot,” he shrugged. “You know the sight of leafy greens reduces him to violence.”

Mark shook his head. “I should get home. Him too,” he added, nodding at the car. “When he’s this out of it I’m never sure if he’s going to wake up in an hour bouncing off the walls or sleep so long I have to check that he’s still breathing.”

“Fair enough. Why don’t you come see me tomorrow? At the downtown cafe. You should come by, bring Youngjae if he’s feeling up to it. You can pour some espresso into him, see JB, meet the tallest couple this world has ever seen.”

“And?” said Mark, knowing Jackson too well for the silent ellipsis to go unnoticed. 

Jackson considered, then shook his head. “Long story. If you come by tomorrow, you can meet the ‘and.’”

“Ohh,” said Mark, waggling his eyebrows. “The ‘and’ is a ‘who’.”

Jackson squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I actually understood that.”

With a friendly slap on the back, Mark started back toward his car. “We’ll see you around six.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gang's all here! And things are getting, um, not exactly sexy, but mildly suggestive at least. 
> 
> There will probably be another update today and possibly another tomorrow. I sat down to write this chapter but it got away from me, and I ended up banging out like 5k in a few hours. I've tried to break everything up into chapters that flow at least reasonably smoothly, but I apologize if the narrative is a little jerky between parts for the next while. Anyways thank u sm for reading, please let me know what you thought!!


	5. .05

When Jackson pulled up, the shop was officially closed for the night, but the glass-fronted face of the store glowed warmly from within, silhouetting four figures. JB and Jinyoung were sitting at a table talking in low voices when the door fairly exploded open to reveal Jackson, herding a tall blonde and a small brunette through the door like a ringmaster at a circus. 

Over the explosion of voices and greetings, Jinyoung watched, intrigued, as Jaebum stood and crossed to the older man, enveloping him in his arms. They didn’t do the half-assed macho back-slap thing, he noted. They _hugged._ Jackson looked on, beaming, before rattling off introductions, apparently thrilled to have all of his favourite people in one place. 

“Jinyoung, Bambam, Yugyeom - Mark and Youngjae.”

“How old are you?” Bambam demanded.

“Nice manners,” Yugyeom muttered, before turning to Youngjae with a smile. “I’m Yugyeom. This is my incredibly obnoxious boyfriend, Bambam.”

“Youngjae. I’m 20,” he added, unsure whether to smile or not when Bambam stomped on Yugyeom's foot.

“Wow,” interjected Mark. “You really are the tallest couple the world has ever seen.”

“Speaking of _manners_ ,” said Youngjae, smacking Mark in the sternum disapprovingly, then smiled blindingly at Jinyoung.

After shaking Jinyoung’s hand, he settled next to Mark, arms comfortably linked, his seemingly infinite smile ebbing and flowing with the tide of the conversation.

Jinyoung was, he had long accepted, an garden-variety introvert. Jackson drew his energy from other people, photosynthesizing their energy like a plant in the sun. Or a vampire. Jinyoung, while he liked everyone there, and was already inclined to like the newcomers - that _smile_ \- felt his battery draining as he sat quietly, watching the conversation flow in fifteen different directions. He ducked back behind the counter, using the excuse of making drinks to take a breather.

“What are you doing way over there?” Jackson demanded.

“Making you tea,” he shot back. “You’re welcome.”

The six of them had clustered around one table, the three youngest with their heads together while elders chatted. After a few minutes, Mark left Jackson and Jaebum alone and wandered over to sit at the bar.

“I think it got lost in the chaos,” he said. “But I’m Mark.”

“Jinyoung,” he said, appreciating the man’s quiet voice and air of calm. “Want anything while I’m back here?” and then jumped as a noise like a foghorn blasted the air. He gaped when he realized it was Youngjae, having burst out laughing at something Yugyeom said. 

Mark grinned, well used to the reaction, and looked on fondly as Youngjae leaned back in to youngest two, the three of them all grins and conspiratorial whispers and sneaky glances at the hyungs.

“Hey,” Jaebum leaned back in his chair and called over to the counter, casually holding off Jackson - who appeared to be attempting to stuff a napkin into Jaebum’s mouth - with one hand. “We’re thinking about getting dinner. You know that place with the really good kimchi stew a couple blocks up from Starbucks?”

Jackson stopped flailing immediately and slapped a hand to his chest, scandalized. He shoved his chair dramatically away from the table. “You dare speak the S-word in my presence?” He demanded. Shaking his head, he rose and sauntered to the counter. Planting his elbows, he gave Mark a little shoulder bump and fluttered his lashes.

“Talking about me?”

“Yes,” Mark deadpanned. “Jinyoung was giving me advice on how to suppress my desperate, unending lust for the Wang.”

Jinyoung choked on his mocha.

Jackson opened his mouth to retort, then grumbled and drew his phone out of his pocket. “Sorry. I have to take this,” he said, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder. He picked up his tea and stepped outside.

“You forgot your sugar again, you idiot!" then immediately winced, remembering that Mark was one of Jackson's closest friends, and older. "Sorry, hyung” he added to Mark, and dashed outside.

He fell out the door to find Jackson leaning against his car, hair blowing lightly in the summer breeze.

“I hate spicy food.”

"What happened with your phone call?"

Jackson's smile widened. "What phone call?"

They looked at each other for a moment.

“Let’s go.”

They scrambled into the car, slamming the doors behind them, radio exploding to life and Jackson shoved the keys into the ignition. Jinyoung barely had time to buckle his seat belt, his hair whipped by the wind, voice by the music, as they peeled out of the parking lot together.

“Um,” said Youngjae, watching, like the rest of them, the scene outside the window. “Are they coming back?” Bambam, entirely unphased, patted him pityingly on the shoulder.

“Absolutely not.”

Mark leaned over to Jaebum, frowning, voice pitched low under the chatter of the maknaes.

“Jackson doesn’t take sugar in his tea.”

Jaebum smiled, watch the tail lights fade into the distance.

“I know.”

 

**

 

“Why don’t you ever call me hyung?”

“Hmm?” said Jinyoung absently, focused on chasing the bubbles around his milkshake.

They were sitting side by side on the hood of Jackson’s car, parked on a ridge overlooking the Han river, the salty-sweet scent of takeout rising on the river breeze.

“You never call me hyung.”

He glanced over at Jackson, leaning back on his elbows, eyes closed and face tilted to the sky.

“I’ve never really thought about it,” frowned Jinyoung. And it was true. From the first day, he’d been Jackson. They weren’t far apart in age, seven months at most, but the gap was long enough that, had they met under normal circumstances, he surely would have. While he puzzled over this, Jackson spoke again.

“I just wondered. You call JB hyung. You just met Mark and you called him hyung, and the kids and Youngjae call you hyung. And I’m older than you.”

“Good thing for you math isn’t a gauge on the hierarchy. You’d be calling me hyung.”

“Good thing muscle isn’t,” Jackson shot back. “You’d be calling me sir.”

He reached over and squeezed Jinyoung’s bicep, grinning, then stilled.

They never touched each other. 

Jackson craved physical affection, was simply incapable of keeping his hands to himself, constantly holding hands, tugging people onto his lap, fiddling with shirtsleeves, and resting his head on whoever stood closest. Except for Jinyoung. 

Jinyoung had followed his lead, sensing what flowed just beneath the surface of their relationship, waiting, like a match to a fuse. That once it was lit, that there would be no stopping it. 

Jinyoung’s pulse skipped and steadied. He stared unseeingly at the lights reflected in the river, vision blurring as he heard Jackson’s breath hitch. He slid his fingers down, gently. When Jinyoung didn’t throw him off, he grazed them down another inch, and then another, until he was touching skin. Neither of them spoke. Jackson squeezed lightly, bolder now, hand continuing its slow downward journey. He paused to brush his thumb slowly over the sensitive inside of Jinyoung’s elbow, making the other shiver, eyes fluttering shut.

He trailed his hand down to Jinyoung’s forearm, watching the goosebumps rise in its wake, neither of them daring to breathe, until Jackson’s hand slid over the bandage on his wrist. The moment broke as Jinyoung hissed in pain, and they jolted apart, Jackson shooting upright in apology.

“I’m sorry! Jinyoung, I’m sorry. I forgot.” He picked up Jinyoung’s hand again, quelling him with a stern look when he tried to tug it away, and gently peeled back the bandage.

Jackson hissed in sympathy as he looked at the wound, angrily red. “Christ, Jinyoung,” he said. “You’ve had this for almost month. It should have healed by now.”

Jinyoung took a moment to respond, nerve endings still aflame. “What? Oh. It did, but then I burned it again. And, um, again. I wasn’t kidding when I said that milk frother was out to get me.”

“You need to put something on this. My place is on the way to yours. We can stop off and change your bandage, put some antiseptic on it, and I’ll drop you off after. Please,” he added before Jinyoung could protest.

“It’s just a burn, Jackson.”

“It’s like, four burns, all on top of each other. It’s going to scar, it’s too late to do anything about that, but it could get infected.”

Jinyoung opened his mouth to protest, but Jackson cut him off.

“Let me help,” he said quietly, giving Jinyoung’s fingers a squeeze.

Jinyoung nodded.

 

**

 

Jackson ushered Jinyoung inside. 

“Sit down,” he said. “I’ll just be a second.”

As he disappeared through a side door, Jinyoung took the opportunity to glance around. The apartment was substantially bigger than his. The walls of the main room were a deep, muted red, the biggest of them set off by a trio of enormous black-and-white cityscapes. Jinyoung recognized Hong Kong in the center, flanked by Seoul on the left, Shanghai on the right. The kitchen lay straight through, a small dining area to the right. On the left, the bedroom, and the door Jackson had disappeared through presumably the bathroom.

He came back out wearing gloves, carrying a first aid kit. Jinyoung was about to ask if he wasn’t being a little too careful when he unwrapped a mask from it’s plastic sheeting and settled it over his face. He closed his mouth.

Jackson lifted Jinyoung’s hand, looking around for a moment for somewhere to set it while he worked, before gingerly placing Jinyoung’s palm on his own knee.

“I need it steady,” he explained, apology and the hint of a question in his voice. “We can move to the kitchen table if you want.”

“It’s fine,” said Jinyoung, maybe a little too quickly.

“Okay. This is going to sting.”

Jinyoung choked on whatever smart-ass comment had been about to come out of his mouth as Jackson laid a patch soaked with iodine over the burn. He cursed furiously, fingernails digging into Jackson’s knee and breathed hard through his nose until the burn eased. Jackson wiped over it again gently, hair falling into his eyes, then slicked a clear, thick ointment over it, finally laying a fresh pad of gauze and efficiently taping the edges down. 

He tugged off his gloves, his mask. “It really hurt,” he said sadly, looking at Jinyoung’s flushed face. “I’m sorry.”

Jinyoung shook his head. “Thanks,” he said. “Really.”

Jinyoung lifted a hand to brush Jackson’s hair from his eyes. It was an innocent gesture, almost absent. Uncalculated, harmless. Then their eyes met, and the air changed as if lightning had struck - Jinyoung could taste the sting of metal in the air.

The blood rushed to his head as he brushed the pad of his thumb across the short hairs just behind Jackson’s ear. Jackson’s breath shuddered out, hand coming up to clench around Jinyoung’s uninjured wrist. Jinyoung could feel it shake as he fought to hold himself back.

He turned his face into Jinyoung’s hand, lips brushing against his palm. If Jinyoung wanted to test, wanted to experiment, he would let him. If this was all he’d ever get, he’d take it. and be grateful.

But Jinyoung shifted, lifting one knee onto the couch, and leaned forward.

He fitted his lips against Jackson's, gently. So gently. He pulled back slowly, heartbeat like a hummingbird, and opened his eyes to see Jackson’s still closed, brow furrowed like he was about to cry, biceps twitching as he gripped the couch cushions so hard his knuckles turned white.

Jinyoung leaned in again, his other hand floating up to frame Jackson’s jaw. He moved his lips against Jackson’s, just barely, tongue sliding out to whisper along his lower lip. Jackson’s mouth opened, the merest centimeter, on a shuddering breath.

Jinyoung angled his face to nose along Jackson’s cheekbone, inhaling, finally pausing to breathe in his ear.

“Yes,” Jinyoung whispered.

Suddenly, Jackson fell back onto the couch, yanked, and Jinyoung tumbled down on top of him. What had been warmth exploded into flame, heat threatening to swallow them both whole. Jinyoung gasped into Jackson’s mouth as the older man’s hand seared down his back, and then up, to fist in his hair and crush their mouths together. 

Desperate to feel him, Jinyoung threw a leg over Jackson’s hips and ground down. Jackson’s back arched as he threw his head back. “Jinyoungie,” he said breathlessly. Reverently. He gripped his hips, guiding him, lining them up as he rolled his hips up to meet him. They groaned in unison, Jinyoung dropping his head onto Jackson’s chest, the friction through the denim so good, so good, but not enough. 

Jinyoung’s stomach flipped as Jackson lunged upright and swung his legs off the couch, yanking the younger’s thigh so he was straddling his lap, and reached down, clenching his fingers over the waistband of his jeans. “Can I- is it okay if I-”

“ _Please,_ ” said Jinyoung. He couldn’t think, could barely breathe. He _needed._

Jackson popped the button and yanked down his fly, breath stuttering as he saw Jinyoung’s erection, tenting his boxers obscenely. He dropped his head back against the couch, trying to maintain control as Jinyoung, sensing Jackson's hesitation, yanked his own boxers down before returning the favor, lifting his ass off Jackson’s thighs - brushing his cock against Jackson’s stomach - to whip the blonde's joggers down to his knees before settling himself again.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

Jackson looked, chest and throat tight with something he couldn’t name. Jinyoung reached out, one hand winding into Jackson's hair, eyes heavy, and the other trailing down Jackson's chest, his stomach, until it fisted, gripping their cocks together, and rolled his hips experimentally. 

Jackson cursed, bucking beneath Jinyoung involuntarily as their cocks slid together, making Jinyoung gasp. Jackson’s hands came up to grip his waist, lifting him and then pulling him down harder as he rose to meet Jinyoung as he rode. They fucked into Jinyoung's fist, the slide eased by their combined precum but dry and rough enough to add an edge. They sped up, gasping into each others mouths. "I - I'm close," Jinyoung managed. 

“Together,” breathed Jackson, voice strained as he fought to hold back. He slid a hand down to grip Jinyoung's over both of their cocks, pumping them harder, and had Jinyoung writhing against his chest. 

“Come, Jinyoung. Come for me," he whispered, and Jinyoung was gone. They came almost simultaneously, Jackson’s head thrown back on a shuddering groan, Jinyoung biting down on his neck hard enough to bruise, painting each other's stomachs white. Their hands and hips slowed, riding out the last waves, and then stopped. Jinyoung’s thighs quivered as he held himself up, sensitive, and then gave out. He went limp, breathing hard against Jackson’s neck.

They were silent for a moment, laboured breathing the only sound in the room. Jinyoung left his arms dangling limply around Jackson’s neck. He was a little afraid to lift his head, afraid to break the moment. Afraid to wonder if some part of their friendship had been burned away by the fire between them.

He went slack with relief when Jackson reached down to pinch his ass and said "Ick. We both need a shower, like, now."

"Do you have a forklift handy? I'm pretty sure my legs have taken the night off."

Jinyoung went limp all over again, this time with laughter, when Jackson hauled him up, bridal style, and carried him to the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, THAT happened. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought, and thank you for reading!!


	6. .06

Jinyoung woke several hours later, disoriented. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and why. He rolled over to find Jackson asleep, not touching him, but with one hand splayed outwards as if searching for Jinyoung in his sleep. 

They’d taken turns showering, Jackson's bathroom regrettably not big enough for multitasking, then bolted down their cold dinner and fallen into bed, exhausted.

He glanced at the alarm clock. 4:15. He sighed and scooted closer to Jackson. The light filtering in through the window illuminated the planes and angles of his face, turning his hair from gold to silver, long lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. Jinyoung reached out hesitantly, brushing at fingertip over his palm, carding his hair from his eyes. It seemed both of them were somehow still cautious, despite what they'd done. 

“You think so loud.”

Jinyoung jumped and made to snatch his hand away, but Jackson, eyes still closed, grabbed it. Jinyoung's heart did a long, slow roll in his chest when he brought it to his mouth and lightly kissed the bandage on his wrist.

“Hurt?”

“No,” he sighed. “It’s better.”

“Why are you awake?”

“I can’t turn my brain off.”

“Let me give you a hand with that,” suggested Jackson, grinning. 

He reached over and trailed his fingertips up Jinyoung’s side, feather-light, making him shiver. They lay side by side, lips meeting softly, sweetly, fingers tangling languidly in each other’s hair. Jackson sat up, crossing his legs, and made to tug Jinyoung over to him, hand sliding up Jinyoung’s thigh to just barely brush against the side his cock.

Jinyoung choked on a distinctly unsexy giggle.

Jackson withdrew his hand, eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jinyoung managed, voice strangled.

“We’re naked, and you’re laughing,” said Jackson, indignant. “That is definitely not nothing.”

Jinyoung grabbed his hand before he could rise. “Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry,” he said, voice quavering, biting the inside of his lip. “It’s just-”

“Park Jinyoung, I swear to god-”

“Socks.”

Well, that was unexpected.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your socks,” choked Jinyoung, eyes crinkled into crescents behind his hand, trying desperately to smother his laughter.

Jackson looked down, past his already half-hard cock. He was wearing the cat socks.

He drew himself up to his full height.

“I’ll have you know,” Jackson said, “that cats are a long-respected and ancient symbol of-”

Jinyoung burst out laughing.

“I’m serious!” said Jackson, pitching his voice over the hysteria as Jinyoung dropped helplessly back into the pillows, hooting. “In ancient egypt-”

“Oh my god, shut up,” he wheezed, snagging Jackson by the back of the neck and yanking him down beside him. 

“I don’t care how ridiculous my socks are,” Jackson grumbled, mattress shaking with Jinyoung’s mirth. “How does anyone laugh when their dick is being touched?”

Jinyoung just laughed harder. “I’m sorry,” he said again, voice cracking. “It’s so cute. You’re so fucking cute.” He rolled onto his side, dropping his hand onto Jackson’s chest and his head onto his shoulder, still giggling weakly. He didn’t notice when Jackson went very still beside him, didn’t notice the tremor in his hand as he lifted it to lay it gently on top of Jinyoung’s.

Jinyoung’s laughter subsided slowly, and with a sigh, he relaxed into a yawn, head still cradled on Jackson’s shoulder. He felt, barely, Jackson link their fingers together before tumbled back into sleep with his heart beating beneath his ear.

 

\- - -

 

When he woke up the next morning, Jackson was gone. He reached, half-asleep, shuffling around the bed for a moment, before hauling himself upright. He was sore, and it took him a moment to remember that it was due more to hysterical laughter than anything else.

He tossed the blankets off, still naked, planning to go in search of coffee, and then halted, baffled, looking down at his feet. 

They were covered by very familiar, obnoxiously fuzzy, cat-patterned socks. He yanked one foot up to inspect them and found a post-it note stuck to his ankle.

“ _Check your phone._ ”

Bewildered, Jinyoung flung pillows aside to find it. He had five unread snaps from Jackson, which was baffling in and of itself because he was relatively sure he’d deleted Snapchat after Bambam and the Night Of The Missent Dick Pics.

He opened the first one. It was a selfie of Jackson, grinning hugely and giving a thumbs up next to a sleeping Jinyoung’s feet, on which he’d obviously just placed the socks. Jinyoung rolled his eyes.

The next one was a video.

Jinyoung squinted until his eyes adjusted and he saw Jackson’s (now bare) feet padding through the darkened house. There was a moment of muffled shuffling as he propped his phone up facing him, and then a lamp flared to life. Jackson sat on the couch, gloriously naked, the video filming from his head to his thighs. He stared into the camera and slowly slid a hand down to grip his already-hard cock, hand glistening slightly with lube. He rolled his palm over the head, biting his lips as he teased his fingertips up the shaft. He pumped once, slowly, and groaned quietly before the clip ended. 

Jinyoung fumbled, nearly flinging his phone across the room in his rush to tap to the next video. 

It was the same angle, Jackson now stroking himself, agonizingly slow. His powerful thighs quivered, one hand sliding up to tug his own nipple, eyes fluttering shut. Jinyoung was flushed and already almost painfully hard, and slid a hand down to tease his own cock just as the clip ended.

The next was worse - or better. Jackson was pumping his cock hard and fast, one hand cupping his balls, his hips twitching off the couch to find friction in his hand. “Oh, fuck,” Jinyoung whispered weakly, hand tightening as he unconsciously matched Jackson’s strokes and speed. Jackson was panting, moans escaping between laboured breaths. “Jinyoungie,” he groaned, back arching off the couch, making Jinyoung’s hand spasm and his hips jerk, balls beginning to draw tight, and oh god, oh fuck, he was _so_ close. 

The clip ended.

Jinyoung cursed furiously, not stopping his hand as he nearly punched his phone for the next clip. 

But it wasn’t a clip. It was a gif. Jinyoung’s eyes adjusted painfully to the now-daylight of the scene. It was Jackson’s face, clearly taken before he’d left for work, making use of the dog filter above his leather gear. He grinned into the camera, then stuck his tongue out. 

The bar of text read simply, “How do you like it? 메롱~” before it vanished. 

  


\- - -

 

Jinyoung stormed into the cafe, apron scrunched in his fist, shirt from the day before wrinkled, hair sticking up every which way.

Jackson leaned casually on the counter, joking with Jaebum. His eyes danced with evil amusement as Jinyoung, disheveled, marched up to the counter.

“Hi,” he said, grinning. 

“Um, hey,” said Jaebum cautiously, looking between the two. “You’re early.”

“Supply check,” Jinyoung gritted out from between his teeth, seizing Jackson by the front of his jacket. 

“Actually, we just-” began Jaebum

“ _Supply check_ ,” said Jinyoung, and began dragging Jackson bodily into the back.

“You know if you kill him, I’ll have to fire you!” Jaebum called as they rounded the corner. Jackson craned his neck around to give Jaebum an enthusiastic thumbs up before he disappeared into the back. 

Jinyoung kicked the door to the supply closet open, shoving Jackson through it and then whipping him around to slam it shut with his back. The space was dimly lit by the sliver of a window blocked by crates of coffee and tea. 

“Did you not like my present?” he asked innocently. 

“You-”

Jackson grinned, raising a hand to deflect a smack as Jinyoung’s hand came up, his laugh dissolving into a moan when instead of connecting with his chest, it fisted in his hair and yanked, crushing their mouths together. 

“I hate you,” Jinyoung breathed, hooking his hand in Jackson’s belt and jerking him forward until their hips ground together. 

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Jackson managed, heat boiling in the pit of his stomach as their erections pressed together, hands sliding around to grope Jinyoung’s ass. He tugged, made to switch their positions, but Jinyoung countered, wedging a thigh between Jackson’s and pressing him back against the door. 

Jinyoung reached up and shoved at Jackson’s leather jacket, yanking it down to his elbows. When the blonde made to shimmy it the rest of the way off, Jinyoung pressed with his thigh.

“Leave it,” he ordered. 

Jackson watched him warily, arms pinned behind his back. Jinyoung’s eyes gleamed in the dusky light, lips deep pink from abuse and shadowy stubble framing his jaw. He had a moment to be pleased that he’d gotten deep enough under Jinyoung’s skin that he’d left the house without shaving before the darker man slid his hands under his shirt up to his chest and raked them back down, more nails than fingertips. His abs quivered under the abuse, cock throbbing in his jeans.

“Jinyoung,” he said, voice cracking.

Jinyoung leaned in, pressing his mouth to Jackson’s ear, pressing his hand to Jackson’s cock. 

“You asked for it,” he said. “ _Hyung._ ”

Jackson cursed in three languages as Jinyoung eased his zipper down, blood rushing to his cock as the pressure eased. 

When he dropped to his knees, Jackson saw stars. 

Jinyoung leaned in, breath ghosting hotly across the head of Jackson’s cock over his boxers. He dragged his nose down his v-line, inhaling, before he hooked his fingers in Jackson’s jeans and boxers and yanked them to his ankles. 

At the sight of Jackson’s cock, smooth and hard, the tip flushed red and beading with pre-cum, Jinyoung’s mouth flooded with saliva. 

He glanced up at Jackson, who was staring down at him, pupils blown huge with desire and disbelief. Jinyoung leaned forward, letting Jackson’s tip slide obscenely along the seam of his lips, never breaking eye contact. His tongue flicked out to collect the wetness gathered there. He kissed the tip, dipping his tongue delicately into the slit, sucking so lightly as to be barely there. Then opened his mouth without warning and took Jackson in as far as he could go.

Jackson’s head slammed back against the supply room door as his body jerked. 

“Jesus, oh christ -” 

Jinyoung hollowed his cheeks, dragging the slick, hot flat of his tongue along Jackson’s length as he bobbed, sucking hard, letting it brush the back of his throat every so often.

He pressed the flat of his palm against Jackson’s hip to stop him thrusting forward. Jackson tried to hold himself back, but his hands were behind him and he had nothing to ground himself with, thighs shaking with the effort of staying on his feet. When Jinyoung slid off his cock, mouthing down to take one of his balls into his mouth, his knees buckled. 

“Jinyoung,” Jackson managed, trying to warn him as heat whipped into his gut. “I’m-” he choked off as Jinyoung returned to his cock, finally using his free hand to pump along the base in time with his mouth, and sank down until his nose brushed Jackson’s hip. And then he swallowed.

Jackson was gone, body convulsing as he came, arms still pinned behind his back as Jinyoung pressed his hips to the door and worked him through it with his mouth, swallowing everything and milking him to the end. 

He finally slid off Jackson’s softening cock and looked up at him, finding his face slack, eyes closed, sweat beaded along his hairline. He slid to his knees in front of Jinyoung, collapsing forward to rest his head on the other’s shoulder as he caught his breath. Jinyoung reached up to wipe his brow, pleased, and then tucked him carefully back into his underwear, tugging his jeans back up and fastening them. He dabbed delicately around his mouth, smirking, shifting as he tried to ignore his own still-raging erection.

When Jackson finally opened his eyes, he looked down to see the damp spot on the front Jinyoung’s jeans. The fact that Jinyoung had gotten wet, so wet it had soaked through his underwear and jeans, just from having Jackson’s cock in his mouth - if he could have gotten hard again, he would have. 

Jackson’s head snapped up, eyes no longer dazed and sleepy, but hot and predatory. Jinyoung jumped at the change. Jackson began to fight with his jacket, wrenching and twisting until his arms were freed. 

“Too much?” asked Jinyoung nervously. 

Jackson’s hand shot forward, fisting in Jinyoung’s shirt.

“My turn,” he rasped, and Jinyoung gasped as he was lifted halfway by his shirt and slammed, chest first, against the door. Jackson knelt behind him, spreading his legs to bracket his shins against the outside of Jinyoung’s, pressing his hips hard against his ass until Jinyoung’s erection pressed against the cold metal. 

The younger heard a jingle of metal and his stomach jolted almost painfully with desire as his arms were whipped above his head, Jackson’s large hand pinning his wrists to the door, firm, but mindful of his burn. The other fought into the waistband of his jeans, yanking them down to his knees. Jackson wasted no time in gripping him, hard, choking on air as he felt Jinyoung, already slick with precum. 

Jinyoung jerked desperately, tried to thrust forward, thrust up, but he was pressed too tightly to the door to find any leverage. He quaked as Jackson stroked him, so slowly, knowing how close he was, knowing he’d been on edge for hours, seemingly determined to drag this out as long as possible. He pressed a thumb along the vein on the upstroke, brushed the tip of a finger under the sensitive ridge of the head before sliding his fist down again. Jinyoung’s forehead was pressed against the cold metal of the door, laboured breaths condensing on the steel, straining. He was so close, so close, but Jackson held him too tightly. 

“I can’t,” he said, voice strangled. “Jackson.” His chest heaved as the hand paused, squeezing along the base, then suddenly sped up. Jackson slid a finger along his slit, ruthless, now pumping him hard and fast. He bit down on the skin of Jinyoung’s neck, then slicked his tongue over the mark, pressing forward to set his lips against his ear. “Come,” he whispered, and flicked his wrist. 

Jinyoung did, muscles seizing, and arms jerking above his head as he came hard against the door. Jackson’s hand gentled, slowed, guiding him through the aftershocks. When he went limp, his wrists were released, and he slid down onto his ass to fall shuddering back against Jackson’s chest. 

“God,” he managed.

“Remind me to piss you off more often,” said Jackson, carding his fingers through Jinyoung’s hair.

They tidied each other up as best they could, Jinyoung flushing as he cleaned his come off the door, and tried for casual as they walked back out to the counter. 

Jaebum was standing in the middle of the cafe, arms slack at his sides, staring glassily straight ahead.

"What's up, hyung?"

“Bleach,” he said, voice oddly tinny.

“What?”

“Bleach,” he repeated. 

Jackson and Jinyoung exchanged a look. “I think there’s some in the back,” said Jinyoung hesitantly. “What for?”

“My ears,” he said hollowly.

Jinyoung's face burned as Jackson cackled like a hyena, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that sure was three smut scenes in a row sORRY  
> thank you for reading as always and pls let me know what you thought!!
> 
> (note: just for anyone who might not know, 메롱 [pronouned MEH-rong] is used in Korean for the sound of someone sticking their tongue out, sorta like 'neener neener' in English)


	7. .07

Jinyoung didn’t entirely know how Jackson had roped him into this.

He stood in front of the full-length mirror, fidgeting with his tie and shouting as much to Jackson, who had been in the bathroom styling his hair for what felt like seven hours.

“Lighten up! It’ll be fun,” he shouted back.

Jackson had caught him off guard several nights ago, tangled together in bed after a marathon of horror movies on his laptop.  


 

*     *     *

 

 

“I have this work thing on Friday,” Jackson began, tapping the spacebar to halt the credits rolling by on-screen.

“Mm,” said Jinyoung distractedly, tracing light circles around Jackson’s nipple with his thumb.

They’d ended up crushed together in terror several times during the last movie, making it extremely hard to concentrate on the hapless teens and their breathtakingly poor decision-making skills.

“It’s just a mixer for district and local managers,” he continued. “I’m allowed to bring someone, so I was -” he shivered, breath catching momentarily as Jinyoung’s hand continued its ministrations - “god, would you stop that for a second?”

Jinyoung hid his smirk in Jackson’s chest, lust already pumping through his veins. He shifted his leg from where it was tangled with Jackson’s to brush his thigh across his crotch, which was hardening nicely despite what they both knew was a token protest.

“Jinyoung, I’m trying to –“ he cursed, hips jumping slightly as Jinyoung pressed with his leg. “I’m trying talk to you.”

“I’m an excellent multitasker,” hummed Jinyoung, undeterred, hand wandering steadily south.

Jackson snagged it just short of his hipbone and rolled on top of Jinyoung, pinning his hands on either side of his head, the thrill that rocketed straight up from the soles of Jinyoung’s feet at the weight of Jackson pressing him into the mattress doing nothing to assuage his motivations.

“First of all,” said Jackson, tugging his head back as Jinyoung tried to lunge up to kiss him. “You’re evil. Secondly, as I was saying, I’m allowed to bring someone to this work thing, and I want you to come with me.”

Jinyoung tried to lock his legs around Jackson’s waist and flip their positions. After a moment of grappling (that he lost pathetically) he sighed long-sufferingly up at Jackson, who was holding his body away and looking down at him expectantly. “I don’t know any of these people.”

Jackson headbutted him gently. “You know me. And Jaebum will be there.”

When Jinyoung pouted at him, Jackson relented and leaned down to kiss him, slow and soft, in dizzying contrast to the iron grip on his wrists.

When Jackson angled his head, Jinyoung turned his automatically to give him better access to his neck. His kissed up and down the long column of his throat, across his Adam’s apple, and then back up to bite his ear in that one spot he knew made Jinyoung lose his mind.

Jinyoung’s hips jerked on a gasp. “Not - not fair,” he managed.

“Come on,” Jackson murmured, tracing the tip of his tongue along the shell of his ear. “It’ll be fun. Free drinks, free music. A coatroom with a lock,” he added.

He lowered his hips slowly, allowing his cock to brush against Jinyoung’s, so gently it was torturous. Jinyoung’s shaky moan was muffled against his lips.

“Yes?” whispered Jackson, pressing harder as Jinyoung’s legs fell open.

“Yes,” Jinyoung breathed, arching his body desperately up against Jackson.

“Good.”

Jinyoung blinked as Jackson’s weight left him as he rolled back onto his side.

“It’s at eight. You need a tie.”

Jinyoung sat up, gaping incredulously at Jackson, who was now laying on his back with every appearance of comfort, eyes closed. He was given away by the smile Jinyoung could see he was repressing by the quiver of his lips, and lower down, the rather impressive tent beneath the blankets.

“You,” said Jinyoung darkly, “are going to pay for that.”

Despite being naked and hard, he tried for dignity as he yanked a hoodie off the floor and started for the bedroom door, yelping when Jackson collided with his back.

“Sorry,” he said, the grin in his voice making it clear that he wasn’t sorry in the least. He tugged the hoodie from Jinyoung’s hands and turned him around, walking him backwards through the doorway, stealing small kisses with each step.

When they reached the living room, he shoved lightly, tipping Jinyoung back over the arm of the sofa onto his back. Jinyoung yelped at the cold leather against his bare ass and then scooted back so he was resting against the other arm.

“Let me make it up to you.”

Before he could open his mouth to retort, Jackson was kneeling between his legs and hooking his forearms under Jinyoung’s knees. He yanked, sliding Jinyoung down, and slicked his tongue up his cock, slowly, from base to tip.

Jinyoung’s curse choked off halfway and became a moan.

“You suck,” Jinyoung managed, attitude belied by his arching hips and the hands sliding down to card through Jackson’s hair.

“Too easy,” said Jackson, grinning, before lowering his head once again.

 

*     *     *

 

Jinyoung shook himself back to the present in time to hear the bathroom door click open. When Jackson emerged, he quite simply lost his breath.

He was wearing a suit, a sharply cut burgundy jacket thrown over his forearm, crisp white shirt buttoned to his throat. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows above muscular forearms in concession to the end-of-summer heat, skin tanned darkly gold in beautiful contrast.

Jinyoung took a step forward before he realized he was moving, reaching for Jackson’s tie.

Recognizing the gleam in his eyes, Jackson batted his hand away and took two steps in hasty retreat. “Don’t even think about it. We’re going to be late already.” The look in Jinyoung’s eyes had him half-hard already, but he took a deep breath and turned the younger back towards the mirror by his shoulders, reaching around in front of him to tie his tie for him.

Jinyoung took this opportunity to seize Jackson’s wrists and slowly, firmly grind his ass back against him. He watched in the mirror as Jackson sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes closed before, to Jinyoung’s immense disappointment, carefully letting it out again and disentangling himself.

“Coatroom with a lock,” he reminded him. “Get dressed.” He pecked the nape of Jinyoung’s neck and escaped to the kitchen to call the cab.  
  


\- - -  


Jackson tried his best to look interested as the older man standing before him continued his interminable monologue about this year’s inferior bean crop. He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the crowd. The hall was warmly lit, the dark wood walls and rafters strung with brilliant white fairy lights. Music pounded, the bass set slightly too high for the setting, maintained by a DJ on a raised platform who looked too thrilled at having scored a corporate gig to have been on the job for very long. After a moment, he spotted Jinyoung by the bar, perfectly cut blue suit standing out among the blacks and greys, chatting with a young man in all black whose hair began ice-white at the crown and faded into a deep indigo at the tips.

They’d gotten separated after the initial sortie, greeting everyone as the initial party stiffness began to unbend, and Jackson had been whisked away with an apologetic grimace by director-so-and-so of something-or-other. He’d been trapped for twenty minutes and spent nearly eighteen of them fretting.

“Is everything alright?”

Jackson snapped back at the light touch on his forearm, and realizing some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, and hastily plastered on a professional smile.

“Of course. Have you met CEO Kwon?”

He ushered his conversation partner over to the bull-shouldered man surrounded by a cluster of sycophantically smiling aides and slipped away as he spluttered and bowed low enough to dip his tie in his wine.

He shouldered his way smoothly through the crowd, smiling and exchanging pleasantries with each familiar face, reaching Jinyoung’s side just in time to hear him laugh, eyes crinkling, hand floating up to cover his mouth.

Jinyoung turned, evidently delighted to see him.

“There you are. We were just talking about you.”

Jackson chest stuttered slightly as the glittering look of a shared joke passed between the two.

“Good thing all my embarrassing baby pictures are in Hong Kong,” he said vaguely, forcing a smile.

The stranger smiled and held out a hand. “Hoseok,” he said by way of introduction. Jackson shook, squeezing maybe a little harder than necessary as Jinyoung turned back to the bar to order him a drink.

Hoseok looked around and sighed slightly. “I hate these things.” Then he grinned and tipped his head towards Jinyoung. “Hard to fault the view though,” he added under his breath.

Jackson blinked once, slowly. “Pardon me?”

“Well, come on,” he said. He gave Jinyoung’s back a long, slow up-and-down. “Have you _seen_ him?”

Jackson opened his mouth to say something - maybe “yes, naked” - when Jinyoung wandered back over to hand Jackson a drink.

A slow, melodramatic R&B ballad was pumping sinuously through the air. “Can you believe the music they’re playing? I haven’t heard this song since high school.”

“Allow me to drag you down memory lane,” said Hoseok, grinning and hooking his pinky with Jinyoung’s.

Jinyoung set his drink down and smiled as he was led away by Hoseok, his astonished and delighted laughter ringing around the hall as he was whipped into a smooth turn and dramatic dip, earning a few whoops and claps from the sparse crowd that had gathered on the dance floor. Hoseok pulled him back up, holding Jinyoung a breath away from his face for a moment, before laughing and relaxing into the dance.

Jackson stood, pulse ringing in his ears, watching as they swayed, leaning in to speak into each other’s ears over the music, Jinyoung’s laugh blinding even from a distance because his hands – one on Hoseok’s shoulder, one in his hand – weren’t free to cover his mouth as they habitually did.

He jumped when a hand came down on his shoulder, then reached back without looking and laid his own over Jaebum’s.

“Friend of his?”

Jackson’s voice felt rusty. “Apparently.”

“A dance is just a dance, Jackson.” When he didn’t reply, Jaebum moved around in front of him to set the drink Jackson was still holding back on the bar, and tugged him out onto the dance floor. He slid his arms around Jackson’s waist, looking at him expectantly until the younger sighed and relaxed enough to hook his wrists around Jaebum’s neck. “See?”

They swayed gently together, Jaebum leading – steering, really – and making sure they didn’t end up too close to anyone else. After a moment, Jackson gave up craning his neck to look around over Jaebum’s shoulder and let out a tremulous sigh, leaning forward to rest his face in the crook of Jaebum’s neck. Jaebum closed his eyes as worry crawled icily up his spine.

Though he’d never admit it aloud, Jaebum considered himself to be Jackson’s emotional forcefield. He was constantly shifting, dancing, subtly nudging Jackson this way or that or outright behind him to safety, stepping in to absorb some of the blows from a society that Jackson was simply not built for. Early in their friendship, he’d done this grudgingly, resentfully, taking Jackson’s sheer goodness for weakness, even for stupidity. But as they’d grown closer, he’d realized it was precisely the opposite.

Jackson knew the world; he knew what was out there, perhaps better than even Jaebum did, and he moved through it with a fearlessness that was alarming to watch. Not blindly, as Jaebum had thought, but with his eyes and heart wide open, unshielded, naked – absorbing everything, simply _feeling_ with an intensity that was inconceivable to most. Guided by an undercurrent of simple hope that people would see his ribcage hanging open and understand. Over the years, Jaebum had come to understand that this, far from naïveté, was an unimaginably brave way to live.

He'd also come to understand that it was dangerous.

Feeling Jackson’s breath tremble against his neck, he cursed internally. Somewhere along the line, he’d missed a step, and hadn’t seen how close the younger was to the tipping point until he was teetering precariously on the edge. He pressed his face against the top of Jackson’s head, inhaling the familiar scent of his shampoo and cologne, stroking his hands comfortingly up and down his back. Warmth rushed in over the worry. Jackson began to shift away, but Jaebum held him in place when he raised to his eyes to see Jinyoung and whoever-that-was sitting together at the bar, in the dim light, leaning towards each other and speaking earnestly.

He was surprised when Hoseok, apparently having felt Jaebum’s gaze scorch a line down his face, laid a hand on Jinyoung’s leg and nodded in their direction. Jinyoung turned, gaze skipping around for a moment before landing on Jaebum and Jackson. He jerked in surprise at the sight of the two of them before his eyes narrowed dangerously. Jaebum narrowed his back, gaze flicking to Hoseok’s hand, still laying familiarly on Jinyoung’s thigh, then back to his face. Jinyoung had the grace to flush.

Jaebum opened his mouth to distract Jackson, but sensing something, the younger lifted his head. The world seemed to freeze for a moment as the four of them stared at each other. Hoseok, finally catching on as Jaebum seared him with his gaze and Jackson watched with eyes half-lidded in misery, hastily lifted his hand away and held both up in surrender. He leaned forward and murmured something before he rose and nodded, dignified, at the other two. His gaze lingered regretfully on Jinyoung for a moment before he slipped away into the crowd.

The air hummed as the song ended. Jaebum was left standing on the dance floor, jaw tight, with Jackson still pressed protectively against his body. Jinyoung was left alone at the bar, the heat of Hoseok's touch cooling on his thigh, the bitterness of vodka and something as yet unnamed coating his throat. They looked at each other for an endless moment, the throbbing bass ebbing into a faint pulse on the air, knowing that one way or another, when they looked away, everything would change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This angst was 100% accidental and it took forever to boot I am so sorry BUT finals are over so I can get back to playing with this a little more regularly. Thanks for your patience, thanks for reading, please let me know what you think!


	8. .08

Jackson eased slowly away from Jaebum, shivering slightly as his body heat dissipated. The crowd had begun to thin, the DJ cluing in and lowering the volume as handshakes flurried around the hall. 

“I’m okay,” he said, not taking his eyes off Jinyoung.

Jaebum turned his head by the chin until their eyes met, searching.

“No, you’re not.”

Jackson croaked out a laugh. “I’ll call you later.”

Jaebum look at Jinyoung, who was looking at them. As much to comfort them both as a petty little slap at Jinyoung, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Jackson’s forehead. “You’d better.”

He walked to the door much more slowly than necessary, trying to simultaneously watch the line of cabs outside the doors and the two men at the bar. Jackson’s shoulders were tense, Jinyoung’s eyes flashing dangerously.

He stepped outside in time to see a fork of lightning split the sky.

\--

“Let’s talk,” said Jackson.

“Let’s,” said Jinyoung curtly.

They walked tensely across the hall, smiling stiffly and greeting people as they passed. Their knuckles brushed, two sets of fingers twitching simultaneously, both automatically moving to hold the other’s hand as they walked – the way they always did, Jackson whipping Jinyoung’s arm around as he gesticulated but refusing to let go, Jinyoung pretending to be annoyed – before they shied away from eachother.

Jackson turned left, deeper into the hall instead of towards the exit. He tugged open a large, wood-paneled door and gestured inside. Jinyoung stepped into the dim light and had an absurd urge to laugh as he realized that they were going to have it out in a closet – coatroom with a lock, he remembered – before Jackson spoke.

“You came here with me.”

“I’m aware,” said Jinyoung flatly. 

The light inside was dim, Jackson’s face half cast in shadow as he took two slow breaths.

“I’m not asking you for much. We don’t ask each other for much,” he added, swallowing back the bitterness that wanted to creep up the back of his throat. “But I can’t do this – whatever this is – if we don’t respect each other.”

Jinyoung could feel a deadly mixture of guilt and fury beginning to simmer like poison in his gut. Guilt for looking at another person, for dancing with them, for liking it. Fury at Jackson and Jaebum both for making him feel guilty about it, at himself for allowing it, at the tiny voice in his head that kept whispering _“you were wrong.”_

“And I can’t do whatever this is if you’re going to act like a possessive lunatic,” said Jinyoung sharply. “I danced with Hoseok. You danced with Jaebum. What’s the difference?”

Jackson was silent for a moment. “If you actually need an answer to that question, we have a bigger problem than I thought.”

The look on Jinyoung’s face would have had even Yugyeom scrambling for cover. When he spoke, his voice was ominously low. “You don’t own me, Jackson.”

In contrast, Jackson’s voice pitched up an octave. “I’m not _trying_ to. I’m asking you to show me some basic respect.” He pressed the tips of his fingers into the bridge of his nose, wondering if Jinyoung could hear the words he couldn’t quite get out - _you hurt me, you hurt me, you hurt me_ – echoing across the space between them.

“For christ’s _sake_ , Jackson. None of your co-workers care that the guy you came through the door with danced with someone else.”

“I’m not talking about respect for your district manager and you know it," Jackson shot back, voice rising to a shout. “I’m talking about respect for your boyfriend!"

Jinyoung exploded. “When did I _ever_ say I was your _boyfriend?_ ” He shouted.

Jackson’s head snapped back like Jinyoung had physically slapped him. 

In the deafening silence that followed, Jinyoung opened his mouth, but Jackson held up a hand, eyes closed. He breathed deeply, body hunched slightly as he slowly pulled his guts back in. 

He straightened gradually, and when his eyes opened again, they were distant in a way Jinyoung had never seen.

“You’re right.”

“I - what?”

“You’re right.” The red flush of hurt and fury had faded from Jackson’s face, the burning in his eyes banked to the cool, distant glow of a streetlight. Polite, reasonable. Unreadable. 

Something was buzzing in Jinyoung’s veins. It took him a moment to recognize fear as it began crawling up his throat, threatening to strangle him.  
“I made an assumption, and I put you in a bad position.” Jackson waited a beat, until Jinyoung looked him in the eyes. There was a flash, only a split-second of what lay behind them. Then it was gone. 

“It won’t happen again.” 

The finality of the words slammed though the air, a dark, desperate vibrato dissipating into deeper and deeper waves, fading to the ears, but sinking through Jinyoung’s skin and muscle to make a home inside his bones.

Jackson turned his back and walked, very calmly, to the door.

He paused as if he was going to say something, back still to Jinyoung, then shook his head. He didn’t slam the door. It drifted closed behind him with a quiet click that, to Jinyoung, sounded like the end.

* * *

Jackson screamed onto the highway, city lights blurring into slashes of red and gold as he wove between cars. He slapped a hand at his helmet until the Bluetooth engaged, shouted the name of the person he wanted to hear.

There were two rings, a rustle and a click, and then a “Hey! We were - hello?”

“Jaebum,” was all he said, voice cracking.

Jaebum cursed around the heart that had leaped into his throat. “Come here,” he demanded, light panic weaving through his voice. “You come straight here, Jackson, do you hear me?” The line crackled as he pounded through the house and onto the porch. “Don’t drive like an idiot. You’ll be here in ten minutes.” Jackson didn’t answer, and Jaebum didn’t expect him to. He took a deep breath and talked Jackson through the rest of the drive, forcing his voice to remain low and calm, barely drawing breath until he saw the headlight illuminating the end of their street. 

They stood together on the stoop, Mark’s hand on his shoulder as Jaebum gripped his phone so hard he thought it would break. He hadn’t told Mark anything, hadn’t needed to. He’d shouted and Mark had come, as he always did. “I should never have left him there.” Mark squeezed his shoulder, saying nothing. Their hearts stuttered in unison as Jackson roared up and into the driveway, fishtailing precariously on the gravel. He wrenched his helmet off, letting his bike crash to the ground. Breath already hitching, he strode up the steps and straight into his brothers’ waiting arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter but I've been stuck on it for so long I knew if I didn't post it I'd just lose motivation and never move past it, so I hope it's not too bad! Sorry for so long between updates and all this unsolicited angst - it was an accident, I swear.


	9. .09

Jackson lay in the dark, eyes closed, wet, and burning, with his head on Jaebum’s chest and Mark pressed against his back, long fingers gently stroking his hair.

He took a deep breath that shuddered on the exhale. Mark’s hand paused for a moment before continuing, wondering if Jackson had finally cried himself out. 

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” Jackson rasped back.

They two elder had stood on the porch for what seemed like an eternity, supporting Jackson between them, faces buried in his hair and neck, hands stroking his back and sides until he calmed down enough to walk inside under his own power. They’d tried half-heartedly to coax some food into him, but without much hope, and had eventually shuffled him into a pair of sweats and tucked him into bed. When they’d stood by the bedside, worry staining their faces, Jackson had reached a hand out silently, eyes closed, waiting for someone to take it. They both had, stripping their shirts off without a word and clambering into bed to bracket him like a pair of parentheses. 

He’d broken then, one hand fisted in Jaebum’s and one around Mark’s, sobbing until he’d began to shake and his voice was all but gone. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaked.

“Shut up,” said Mark and Jaebum in unison.

Mark pried himself out of bed.

“Where are you going?”

The slight panic in Jackson’s voice had him reaching back to card his hand through his hair. “I’m just going to get some water. I’ll make you some tea.”

He kicked himself as Jackson blanched.

“Hot chocolate, then.”

Jackson nodded tiredly, turning his face back into Jaebum’s side. “Thanks, hyung.”

Jaebum looked up at Mark. A silent conversation ensued, and Mark nodded reluctantly. 

When Mark got back with the tea, he had a stop to make.

 

* * *

Jinyoung's heart bounded into his throat at the sound of his apartment door thudding open. Half asleep, half drunk, he rolled onto his side, bottles tinkling musically as his hand skimmed the floor beside his bed. “Jackson,” he managed, and suddenly he was flying, head falling back as he was hauled roughly into the air by his collar. He had a split second to wonder if he was still dreaming before he was slammed against a wall. It hurt, but in a vague way, like it had happened to someone next to him.

“What, you're drunk?”

The disgusted snarl in the voice had Jinyoung struggling to pry his eyes open.

“Jaebum,” he muttered. Twin moles blurred in his vision before he let his eyes slip closed again, head lolling back against the wall with a dull thud. “Going to beat me up?”

He’d intended to. He'd taken Jackson's bike - for convenience, to make sure he stayed put, jerking roughly away from Mark’s restraining hands - and screamed up to Jinyoung's building with his vision hazing red around the edges, fully intending to take out his helpless rage at Jackson's pain, his own pain, on Jinyoung's perfect fucking face.

But as he watched Jinyoung's head roll limply on his neck, his cheeks burned red with salt like a sailor too long at sea, collar damp beneath his white-knuckle grip, his traitorous heart weakened in spite of himself. He shook Jinyoung once, hard, rapping him back against the wall.

“How could you do that to him?” he demanded, cursing himself as his voice broke.

Jinyoung didn't answer, tears sliding smooth and silent from beneath his swollen eyelids. Jaebum exhaled shakily and slowly began prying his fingers away, knuckles stiff and aching as if he’d been out in a snowstorm as the door exploded open behind him.

Yugyeom, eyes blazing, crossed the room in two furious strides and planted himself between the older two, shoving his face into Jaebum's until they were nearly nose to nose, his expression lethal.

“You _don't touch him_.” Each word was broken off into its own sentence.

Jaebum jerked his head back instinctively, then rallied as the shock that had doused him like ice water melted back into fury.

“Look, you –“

”No, you look,” snapped Yugyeom. He jerked his chin at Jinyoung, who had simply slid down the wall when Jaebum released him, and was lolling, half-asleep, among the debris. “Look at him. Is this how you lead?”

Jaebum’s fist shot out, wrapping in Yugyeom’s collar. “Don’t test me.”

Yugyeom laughed – it was an ugly sound, derisive and rusty, voice seared dry by the emotions boiling like lava behind his sternum. “Do you think you scare me right now? You think age lines matter right now?” His hand flicked out, snake-strike quick, and slapped Jaebum’s hand away. “Think again. I’m not testing you. I’m _telling you_.” He leaned in again. “You don’t touch him.”

He burned Jaebum with a look, scraping him head to toe before he turned his back sharply. He folded himself to the floor to sit beside Jinyoung, gathering the elder gently against his side, murmuring quietly and wrapping a long arm around him when Jinyoung’s head tipped onto his shoulder.

Jaebum turned blindly - dazed, unbelievably hurt - to find Bambam in the doorway, eyes darker than he’d ever seen. His brow knit as he took in the scene in front of him. Yugyeom and Jinyoung tangled together on the floor, discarded beer bottles rolling beneath the unmade bed, the scents of sweat and fury and misery in the air. When his eyes lit on Jinyoung's shirt, the collar torn, his face hardened like granite. He didn't spare Jaebum a glance as he crossed the room and dropped to his knees on Jinyoung’s other side. Running his long fingers gently through Jinyoung' hair, carding his bangs out of his eyes, he finally raised his eyes to the eldest standing alone in the doorway.

He shook his head as Jaebum opened his mouth to speak.

"Just go."

Jaebum watched them for a moment longer, Jinyoung pressed between the younger two, tears flowing silent and steady as they murmured to him, and his stomach churned at the perfect mirror of where he, Mark, and Jackson had been not two hours ago.

None of them looked up as he walked out and closed the door quietly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been stuck on this Jaebum/Yugyeom confrontation for AGES. Initially it was way too tame, and then I lost my mind slightly and turned it into a physical fight which was way too dramatic, but I think (I hope!) I've settled on a reasonable middle-ground here. Sorry this is so short, and I know it doesn't seem like it, but I swear the angst is winding up and we will get back to sex and hilarity and all things ridiculous. In the meantime, I hope you can bear with me and that you like it so far~


	10. .10

“Hyung.”

Jaebum ignored the voice, yanking tape off the roll and cursing when it stuck to itself.

“Jaebum-hyung.”

Jaebum took a deep breath and closed his eyes, praying for patience. He mashed the mangled ball of tape against the window and slapped the paper onto it. 

Good enough.

“Come on, hyung. Are you really doing this?”

Jaebum glanced over his shoulder. Bambam was sitting at the empty cafe counter, watching him. He looked as cool and put-together as ever, but his mild attitude was belied by the uneaten croissant on his plate. Jaebum doubted he was aware that he’d been unconsciously dismantling it, piece by piece, into a pile of sweet-smelling fluff for the last twenty minutes.

“Yes, I am,” said Jaebum flatly. “Since I seem to be short an employee.” He smoothed the “HIRING: BARISTA” sign against the glass.

Bambam sighed. “He could come back.”

“After all this? After Jackson?” After I went after him? He added silently, shame prickling uncomfortably across the back of his neck.

That night, he’d walked home in the miserably chilly drizzle with his head spinning. When he’d finally crammed his hand into his soggy jeans pocket to dig out his phone, he realized he’d been gone for nearly two hours, finding innumerable texts from Mark begging him not to do anything stupid, to think about how much it would hurt Jackson if he hurt Jinyoung, eventually tipping from concern into outright temper and telling him to pull his head out of his ass and get home _right_ now. 

He’d arrived to find Jackson in a state of utter panic, and hunched his shoulders guiltily as Mark scorched him black with a look. Somewhere during his walk home, the shame he’d been stubbornly shoring up since he’d pried his stiff fingers free of Jinyoung’s collar began to seep in like water under a door. Being slapped down both literally and figuratively by Yugyeom had left his not-inconsiderable pride smarting, true. But the longer he turned it over in his mind, the brighter it began to dawn on him that the crux of his fury wasn't because of the younger's defiance. It was because he had been right.

Bambam's voice drew him out of his reverie. “He’s probably scared. Jinyoung's your friend. Are you seriously telling me you don’t want him to come back?”

Jaebum said nothing.

Bambam snorted. “Fine, you don’t care. Who’s that for, then?”

Jaebum glanced sideways and cursed internally at the mocha he’d made that morning, brain fogged with worry and confusion, long gone cold, sitting behind the bar.

“Me,” said Jaebum defiantly.

“Oh?” inquired Bambam delicately. “I thought you hated chocolate. You should drink it before it gets cold. I’ve heard the manager around here is really uptight about waste.”

Jaebum’s jaw worked a moment before, stuck, he snatched the cup and took a long drink. Bambam raised his eyebrows expectantly, lips twitching as Jaebum held it in his mouth like a chipmunk for as long as possible. He forced himself to swallow and shuddered violently.

“That’s it.” Bambam shoved his plate away. “I’m calling a meeting.”

“I’ll remind you that your boyfriend came at me,” said Jaebum curtly. 

“I’ll remind you that you went at Jinyoung first,” said Bambam sharply. “How do I say ‘hypocrite’ in formal Korean?”

Jaebum’s jaw dropped.

“What is up with you two lately?” He demanded.

“You know all of us are fine with you being in charge,” Bambam began.

“I’m not -”

“Yeah, you are. You’re the decision maker in this circle, and we’re all okay with it. Even Mark’s okay with it, and he’s older than you. But that doesn’t mean we’re not going to call you on it when you’re wrong, and you’re wrong on this.”

Jaebum cursed under his breath and turned to the grinder, hefting a sack of beans and dumping them in with all the grace and delicacy of an errant bulldozer.

“Yugyeom respects you.” 

Jaebum snorted. 

“He does,” said Bambam sharply. “His attitude is for show, and you know it. And more than that,” he said, raising his voice as Jaebum slapped the grinder on. “He loves you.”

“And you love and respect him, whether you admit it or not,” he continued when Jaebum didn’t reply, “because if you didn’t, you’d have dropped him on the spot for getting in your face.”

He scraped his stool back. “We’re figuring this out on way or another, so you might as well get it over with. Come over tonight, bring the rest.”

Jaebum grunted, back still to Bambam.

“And pizza,” he added, and fled.

 

* * *

 

Jaebum stood outside the door to Yugyeom and Bambam’s apartment, listening to the mutter of voices from within. He’d stubbornly shoved away the pang he’d felt when he’d pulled into the only available spot next to Jinyoung’s car, averting his eyes as he headed up the stairs and into the dim lobby. His jaw worked slightly when he heard Yugyeom’s laugh ring out before he opened the door quietly - they were all far too comfortable with each other to knock - and stepped inside to a mess of shoes.

Four pairs of eyes lit upon him as he sauntered into the living room, hands in his pockets, radiating arrogance. Yugyeom rose slowly from his crouch, patting Coco on the rear to send her back to Youngjae. Bambam straightened from where he’d been lounging comfortably on the arm of the couch that Mark and Youngjae were tangled together on.

The room seemed to hold its breath as Jaebum crossed the room. Yugyeom braced, tension rippling off of him in waves so thick they were nearly visible. Youngjae, brow knit, looked between the two and made to rise, but Mark laid a hand on his arm and shook his head, watching intently.

After a moment, Jaebum spoke. “Do you have something to say to me?” He asked coolly.

Yugyeom looked him directly in the eyes. “No,” he said firmly. He kept his hands at his sides, shoulders thrown back defiantly, and lifted his chin as if waiting for a blow.

The silence swelled like a balloon for three long beats, until -

“Good.”

The sound of four jaws dropping was audible.

Yugyeom jumped slightly as Jaebum’s arm came up, but the elder simply hooked an arm around his shoulders and yanked him close. He rested his chin on Yugyeom’s shoulder momentarily as the younger’s arms wrapped around him without hesitation, squeezing hard.

“Proud of you,” Jaebum said gruffly, and then released him.

When he stepped away, Yugyeom immediately tipped his head back, swallowing around the lump in his throat and blinking hard at the ceiling as if the aged stucco was of the utmost interest. 

“So,” shouted Bambam, voice trembling with barely-repressed euphoria as Mark grinned and patted Yugyeom on the back and Youngjae discreetly slipped a tissue into his hand. “Jaebum hyung is paying for the pizza, right? I forgot my wallet.”

Four pillows hit him simultaneously, muffling his laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reconciliation!! Two chapters this week to make up for my horrendous gap between my last updates. Things are working themselves out, slowly but surely, and we'll be sliding back into Jackson and Jinyoung's perspectives soon. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Oh lord OKAY so for the sake of full disclosure, this is my first time doing anything here with an Actual Plot and I'm actually not sure how long it's going to be. I'll try to keep up a reasonable time between updates but pls be patient with me while I figure out what I'm doing (and also I promise you this is gonna earn the explicit rating AND THEN SOME) ok ok thank u bye


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